


"Between the Bars": A Rebels Story

by WantonWhale



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: A New Dawn - John Jackson Miller, Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Alcohol, Anal, Bartender Kanan, Fingering, Hera eyerolling, Humorous smut, Kanan shamelessly hitting on Kallus, M/M, Masturbation, Oral, Sorry Not Sorry, That's Not How The Force Works, You also can't expect me to watch the end of Zero Hour and not ship this, You can't tell me Kanan was a drunk tool and not expect me to roll with it, not remotely canon and it's fine, reluctant pining, you can pry my gay headcanons from my cold dead hands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-07
Updated: 2020-02-08
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:29:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22601746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WantonWhale/pseuds/WantonWhale
Summary: Agent Kallus wanders into a dive bar on the thorilide-mining colony of Gorse and attracts the attention of a certain goateed-bartender.Kallus absolutely does not find the man attractive.And when he runs into him again on Lothal—now a rebel and a Jedi, no less—he isdefinitelynot attracted to him.Nope. Notonebit....
Relationships: Kanan Jarrus/Alexsandr Kallus
Comments: 32
Kudos: 42





	1. Thorilide Death Nights

**Author's Note:**

> As is pretty typical for me, this has already been written.... like a year ago. I'm posting updates as I do some more polishing/editing and just generally making sure past-me didn't say anything to embarrass present-me too badly.  
> The setting of the New Dawn novel with Kanan trying to lose himself tending bar in the Asteroid Belt on Gorse before Hera recruits him, combined with the brief meeting of Kanan and Kallus at the end of episode "Zero Hour Part II" had my mind churning all sorts of naughty thoughts, so... here we are.  
>  ~~You can't have a hawt guy character touch another hawt guy character on the shoulder and expect me not to smut about it, Filoni~~  
>  So, take it for what it is I guess, and hope you enjoy!

_Drink up, baby, look at the stars  
I'll kiss you again, between the bars  
Where I'm seeing you there, with your hands in the air  
Waiting to finally be caught_

_Drink up one more time and I'll make you mine  
Keep you apart, deep in my heart  
Separate from the rest, where I like you the best  
And keep the things you forgot_

_People you've been before that you_  
Don't want around anymore  
That push and shove and won't bend to your will  
I'll keep them still

_Elliot Smith, “Between the Bars”_

Chapter One: Thorilide Death Nights

**_The Asteroid Belt, Gorse_ **

The Asteroid Belt wasn’t the best bar in the thorilide-mining colony of Gorse. But it was the one where Kanan didn’t have to shell out a single credit to get drunk out of his mind. And since the Empire had started sending in its ‘efficiency experts’—more like assassins of workplace safety, in his opinion—Kanan was looking to get _obscenely_ toasted. Until recently, the Gorse system had been left to its own devices. It provided strategic resources the Empire needed at a rate that satisfied all parties involved.

That, apparently, was no longer the case.

There were whispers of anti-Imperialist terrorists making moves to sabotage the thorilide at one of its most important sources: the crystal caves of Cynda. But hey: if Rebels wanted to blow up a few caves, Kanan didn’t care so long as he wasn’t inside. Hell, to be perfectly honest, he didn’t even care much _then._ Assuming he survived, he could always find another job. He was strong, a decent pilot, and he had a way of getting what he wanted. And right now, what he wanted was to frack right off this now Imp-swamped planet. But the only _legitimate_ transport off Gorse was Imperial and, well—that’d be a little counter-productive, wouldn’t it?

The pompous voice of his landlord, Okadiah Garson, snapped him out of his Corellian-whiskey-fueled reverie. “Kanan—tend bar, will you? Another transport pilot got himself blown out of the sky, so drinks are on the house!”

Kanan shrugged indifferently and hopped to the other side of the bar. Usually when there was a death on the job, The Asteroid Belt’s ensuing open-house policy turned the cantina into a mob. The locals took a raucous (and slightly macabre) delight in getting rowdy on “Thorilide Death Nights.” But with the Imperial presence came “order.”

Or something like it, anyway: fear.

There was only one man seated at the bar, at the very end. Kanan hadn’t realized he was there, and had no idea how long he had been. His sleek, well-groomed appearance and black clothing _screamed_ Imperial. But—Kanan narrowed his eyes, looking closer—he wasn’t wearing a uniform, exactly. At least not one he recognized. There was no visible insignia at any rate. Kanan swallowed dryly—that meant he was likely some sort of spook—maybe Imperial Intelligence or ISB. The black shirt he wore was incredibly clingy, making Kanan wonder if he usually wore some sort of armor on top. No idea how anyone would get any work done around _that_ peepshow otherwise, he thought as his eyes trailed over the well-muscled chest and arms. There was no denying the man was attractive… for an imp.

Maybe it was the whiskey, but the more Kanan looked, he had to admit to himself that this man was actually very _, very_ attractive _._ About his own age, with a strong jaw offset by high cheekbones, a smooth face, and beautiful features. Those rich, gold-flecked brown eyes were staring so hard at his whiskey that Kanan wouldn’t have been shocked if he’d set fire to it. He watched the man take a deep sip and sigh, moisture glinting on that perfect mouth. Kanan thought about that mouth in other scenarios, pink lips shining with saliva as they wrapped around his—shaking himself out of it, he poured himself a shot of whiskey and downed it, tossing the glass carelessly into the sink over his shoulder with a small crash of shattering glass.

“If that’s how you do dishes,” the man said in a distinct Coruscanti accent as he rubbed his temple, “it would go a long way to explain why Count Vidian has been dispatched here.”

Kanan shrugged, pouring himself another drink in a fresh glass before holding up the bottle pointedly. The blonde man pushed his glass forward, giving a nod of thanks before taking another deep sip.

“Never heard of ‘im.” Kanan said in his Outer-Rim drawl, eying the man appraisingly over his glass. He sipped this drink slowly. A first for him, but hey—it was a special occasion. Against all odds, he still hadn’t been killed yet. Kanan eyed the man in front of him, feeling the once all-too-familiar tingle of the Force on the back of his neck, encouraging him. It was a whisper just beyond the edge of hearing that said: _this is important—pay attention._ Silently, he told the Force to frack itself and finished his drink.

The Imperial man opened his mouth as if he were about to explain just who the Count dispatched by the Emperor in the name of brutal efficiency was, but closed it again. Agent Alexsandr Kallus was off duty and didn’t need to waste his energy explaining basic concepts to some Outer-Rim hick. Something told him these rough locals wouldn’t be grateful for his efforts to smoke out the insurgents on Gorse that threatened the peace of the Empire. They were fools and there was no satisfying them. Why try?

Kallus glanced at the bartender—or was he a bouncer? He’d watched him throw out a Gamorrean like he was an Ugnaught yesterday: looked like he’d started the fight, in fact. The move to tending bar was probably for the best—well… Kallus arched an eyebrow as he watched the tall, well-built man pour himself another drink… maybe not. He didn’t break a glass this time, so that was a small improvement. _Score one for Order_ , Kallus thought ruefully to himself before turning back to his drink. 

However hard Kanan tried to break his eyes away from the Imp before him—even going so far as to wipe down the bar (a first for him)—they were inevitably pulled back like a tide to the moon. He found himself searching out those flecks of gold that lingered in those brown eyes, only visible with a certain angle of the light. Kanan tilted his head and shifted slightly, trying to entice those gold flecks out of hiding.

“Is there something on my face?” the agent asked disinterestedly.

Kanan smirked, taking up a glass and shining it, not answering.

“Well?” The blonde man asked again, his indifference being rapidly replaced by annoyance.

Kanan strolled back toward him, leaning forward onto the bar on his hands, his face only a foot away from the other man’s. In a low voice, he asked, “would you _like_ me to put something on your face?” Kanan smiled in satisfaction when the other man’s mouth fell open slightly, his eyes widening. There—Kanan thought triumphantly as he stared into the Imperial’s eyes—there’s that gold.

“And what, exactly, were you planning on putting on an Imperial Security Bureau Agent’s face?” the man asked, his voice tightening.

Well, there was one of Kanan's questions answered. His face broke into a crooked smirk, his smile lighting up his green eyes. “That’s up to you, _Agent…._ ” He trailed off, fishing for a name.

The agent’s eyebrow shot up, “What makes you think I intend to tell you my name?”

Kanan shrugged slightly, leaning more of his weight onto his arms, emphasizing the curve of his defined biceps beneath his green, form-fitting sweater. “Show you mine if you show me yours.”

The agent hadn’t been sure a minute ago, but now he was. This man was actually _hitting on him._ Him! A decorated ISB agent, top of his class at the Academy, instrumental in the elimination of no fewer than seven rebel cells. He tilted his head slightly, taking in the bouncer-turned-bartender with renewed interest. Not that _he_ was interested: this was purely professional curiosity.

The tall man’s chestnut-brown hair was tied back in a short ponytail, his face partially concealed by a goatee. He’d always assumed that sort of facial hair was used as a cheap replacement for good bone structure, but that did not appear to be the case. He found himself wondering what his face looked like without it. Feeling his own eyes pulled to the bartender’s green ones, he looked up. It took all the willpower he had to keep from flushing under the intensity of his stare.

He had no idea what made him do it.

“Kallus,” he said softly, “Alexsandr Kallus.”

Kanan moistened his lips, “Well, Alexsandr Kallus—that’ll be fifteen credits for the whiskey.”

Kallus arched a blonde eyebrow, “Not that I mind, but I _thought_ it was on the house tonight.”

“Not for Imps it ain’t,” Kanan said before pushing himself off the bar, leaning against the counter behind him.

Kallus shook his head, reaching into his pocket, pulling out a small stack of credits. He slid them onto the counter toward the bartender. “Do I not get a name, either?”

Kanan smirked mischievously, taking an almost-preternaturally quick step forward to slide his hand over the agent’s own, and whispering in a low voice, “Agent Alexsandr Kallus—if you’d played your cards right, you could’ve had _all of it_.” He let his eyes fall slowly to the agent's lap before snapping back to those beautiful brown eyes.

Kallus pulled his hand away and rolled his eyes before standing to leave.

 _Space, do I hate this stupid backwater kriff-hole planet,_ he thought to himself as he made his way out of the near-empty cantina, weaving around stools and tables, feeling piercing green eyes on him as he left.

Kanan poured himself a drink in the agent’s abandoned glass. He let his lips linger on the rim—just where the Agent's own lips had been—and watched Kallus's departing ass. “ _Damn,_ that’s a tight uniform,” he muttered under his breath. 

The prodigal Jedi raised his glass in a toast to whatever Imperial agency designed that gift to the galaxy before taking a sip, savoring the taste. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not alone! I've had the joy of discovering another Kanan/Kallus smut-piece, [this absolutely glorious one-shot](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12544356) by subtropicalStenella. It is such high-quality preRebels-sassy-drunk-Kanan goodness and the ending is just perfect.


	2. What're You Wearing?

** _Six Years Later, The Lothal System_ **

Agent Kallus stood on the bridge of the star destroyer, waiting patiently for his next orders. There had been reports of rebel activity brewing on Lothal—a small world, out on the rim—but strategically important all the same. At least, so it had been explained to _him_. It was not his place to decide which worlds merited extra security: it was his job to follow orders. And his orders were to smoke out any insurgents and interrogate them to make sure this was an isolated incident and stayed that way. If the insurgents scattered like leaves across the galaxy began coordinating, well… that was a possibility that did not bear thinking about: the chaos, the violence that would surely follow would be devastating.

He wouldn't let it happen.

“Sir?” An ensign chimed.

Kallus looked down at her, “Yes?”

“An incoming transmission from Grand Moff Tarkin for you, sir.”

Kallus nodded, motioning for her to put it through.

The Admiral was standing beside him, a glare on his face. He saw this intrusion of the ISB as a move against his authority: likely by one of his political rivals. Thrawn, perhaps? No... that alien had all the political savvy of a gizka. Still, the fact that Tarkin was comming this Agent Kallus directly rather than through himself was proof the power-play was working, whoever was behind it. The Admiral coughed lightly, assuming a mask of deferent propriety as Tarkin’s blue holo-likeness appeared on the bridge.

“Sir,” Agent Kallus said firmly, snapping to attention.

“Ah, good—you’re already there. I have new orders for you, Agent Kallus. Governor Pryce and the _former_ Admiral—“ Tarkin shot a look at the bald human beside Kallus, “—have thus far failed to quell the insurgency on Lothal. It must be snuffed out before it can spread. I want any conspirators brought in alive, if possible, for interrogation. You will attend to this personally, Agent Kallus. See that you live up to your reputation.”

Kallus nodded, “It will be done, sir.”

Tarkin nodded, not sparing a word for the recently-relieved admiral before flickering away.

Kallus turned to a staff-sergeant and ordered, “ready a transport for Lothal.”

* * *

Hera’s right lek twitched in annoyance. Kanan’s booted feet were up on the console again. She flashed her copilot a dark look and he raised his hands placatingly, removing his feet and brushing off the console with his forearm.

Hera groaned, eyeing the display that showed the other ships in the area. “Traffic’s all backed up by that star destroyer. If they start scanning ships we could have an issue—Chopper?” she yelled over her shoulder, “get ready to scramble our signature.”

The droid chirped and whirred behind them before extending his slicing arm into the navicomputer.

Hera shook her head, biting her lip nervously, “I don’t like this. That star destroyer could be for us—and if it is, it means they’re taking our actions a _lot_ more seriously.”

“Hey,” Kanan said cheerfully, folding his arms across his chest as he watched an Imperial transport ship disembark from the destroyer like a fly escaping from the maw of a giant, ugly gray toad, “look on the bright side: means we’re having an impact.”

Hera scoffed and muttered, “Not the sort of impact I was hoping for.” A beep sounded in the cockpit and her eyes snapped down to the console beside her. “Speaking of… we’re being _hailed._ ” She shot the Jedi an accusatory look.

Kanan’s eyebrows shot up and he leaned forward, flicking the comm switch.

“Unidentified freighter: state your purpose on Lothal,” came a slightly-staticky voice in a distinctive Coruscanti accent.

Kanan and Hera shared a glance. He raised his brow and tilted his head pointedly at her, and she mouthed: _it’s your turn._

“I repeat.” The voice returned, “State your purpose. You are in a lane reserved for priority ships. You are blocking traffic.” Kanan twitched slightly, feeling the fine hairs on the back of his neck stand up as the Force whispered on the edge of his consciousness.

 _No way… I know that voice,_ he thought, a smile beginning to play on the corner of his mouth.

Hera snorted at the transmission, casting a dark look at the star destroyer looming in the distance. “ _My_ tiny ship is blocking traffic?” She glanced over at Kanan, saw he was smiling and snapped, “What, you happy about something?”

On his own ship, Kallus switched tack in an effort to speed things along, dropping the rank and department that usually gained him immediate fear, if not respect. “This is Agent Kallus of the Imperial Security Bureau. Your ship’s ID is not recognized by our systems. I _order_ you to state your purpose.” While his ship could easily move around the freighter, Imperial ships did not move around other ships on principle—they moved _through_ them.

Meanwhile, Kanan grabbed the comm-piece from the console, leaning back lazily in the copilot’s chair as he held it to his mouth. “Agent Kallus, huh?” he drawled, kicking his feet up on the dash and earning him a glare from the _Ghost’s_ pilot. Kanan cocked an eyebrow and asked in a low, sultry tone, “ _what’re you wearing_?” Hera grabbed for the comm but he dodged her.

Kallus’s eyes widened. He recognized that accent—that irreverent tone. Of all the billions of people in the Empire, his course to Lothal was being blocked by _that_ Outer-Rim hick cantina-rat. He was surprised the man had sobered up long enough to figure out how to get out of _atmosphere_. Kallus set his jaw. “What. Is. Your. _Name_?” he gritted through clenched teeth.

“I’ll answer _your_ question if you answer mine…” Kanan easily replied in his lazy, Outer-Rim drawl.

Kallus narrowed his brown eyes, leaning forward in his pilot’s chair. “I asked you _first,_ you backwater, juma-soaked _sleeze-bucket_.”

“Hey—you remembered me!” Kanan said cheerfully and Hera pinched the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes, groaning in frustration. Kanan winked at her before smirking into the comm-piece, saying as-a-matter-of-factly, “I’m real sorry to tell you this, but… you asked me what my _purpose_ was. And _my_ purpose is to find out what you’re _wearing._ I'm just tryin' to do my part as an Imperial citizen and cooperate with law enforcement, but you're makin' it real, _real_ hard for me," he finished suggestively. 

The Imperial agent was intensely regretting his decision to take an unarmed transport rather than a TIE-fighter. _It’s a short trip,_ he’d said. _No one in their right mind will frack with an ISB ship,_ he’d said. _What if all the fighters are needed later,_ he’d said. Space, he felt like an idiot. He groaned loudly into the comm, causing Kanan’s smirk to widen into a grin.

Kallus took a deep breath, calming himself. “The last time I exchanged information for your name, you reneged on our deal.”

Hera shot Kanan a confused look, and he mouthed, _later_ before stretching an arm over his head and drawling, “if you don’t believe I’d keep my word, then believe that it’s cold and lonely out here in space; a good image of _you_ is worth a hell of a lot more to me than your _name,_ Agent Kallus.”

“Tell me your name, first,” Kallus said levelly. This man was clearly trouble. He should have followed his instincts and booked him all those years ago for being—for being—

“Nuh-uh. _You_ first.”

_For being a pain in his ass._

“No,” he spat, “y _ou first._ ”

Hera shook her head in disbelief and left the cockpit in disgust, ordering Chopper to scramble the transport’s signal to the fleet before she left. Flirting his way out of trouble with Imperials was something Kanan often tried back when they’d first met, before rededicating himself to the Jedi ways. And on top of being painful to watch, it came with _zero_ positive results. As Chopper set to work, Zeb and Sabine appeared outside the doorway, eying the exchange with interest.

Kanan pressed his hand to his heart and declared dramatically, “I swear by the light of Lothal’s moons that I will tell you my name, the name of my ship, _and_ my purpose here if you tell me what you’re wearing, Agent Kallus.”

Kallus looked up, mouthing, _why do I do this to myself?_ Before saying tightly, “I’m wearing m _y uniform,_ you idiot.”

“Hmmm…” Kanan hummed thoughtfully, scratching at his goatee, “Which one?”

Kallus sighed, rubbing his temple, “Well, I didn’t get in my dress uniform just for this little chat, so which do you _think_?”

Kanan closed the cockpit door with a wave of his hand, earning him an indignant squawk from Zeb and a “hey!” from Sabine from the other side. He moistened his lips with his tongue and leaned forward onto the console before purring in a low voice, “that tight little black number?” 

Kallus twisted his mouth, looking down at himself. Admittedly, his uniform was pretty tight. But when you were expected to utilize hand-to-hand combat at the drop of a hat, mobility took precedence over modesty. He plucked at the tight material at his abdomen as the strange man’s voice returned, “does it look as good as it did two years ago? You filled it out pretty nicely from what I can recall. I don’t usually go in for ‘fascist chic,’ but you _really_ pull it off.”

Kallus shook his head in disbelief: at this man, at the whole ridiculous situation, and _especially_ at himself. This report was going to be _heavily_ redacted. “My training regimen hasn’t changed in nearly twenty years—I look exactly the same.”

Kanan bit his lip, thinking about the Agent training was an image he’d be milking for a while. “Know what I’d like to do to that uniform, Imp?” he asked with a growl.

Kallus snorted. “Burn it, I should think.”

Kanan grinned, his shoulders shaking with repressed laughter. “Oooooh, yeah—talk _dirty_ to me.”

“Give me your name so the fleet knows whom it is they’re blowing back to the Old Republic,” Kallus said tartly.

“Name’s Kanan,” The Jedi said, a warm smile replacing his mischievous grin, “Kanan Jarrus.” He heard Hera slam open the cockpit door. The Twi’lek smacked him upside the head before sitting back down at the flight controls, gearing up for a quick escape. He mouthed at her, _let’s go,_ before turning his attention back to the comm.

“Well then, _Kanan Jarrus,_ ” Kallus growled, the sound of his name coming from that smooth Coruscanti voice making Kanan shiver, “ _Get the frack out of my way before I_ move _you out of my way._ ”

“You got it, gorgeous,” Kanan said jauntily as Hera pulled hard on the controls, bringing them in a backward arc away from the transport, and speeding toward the planet’s surface.

Kallus was reluctantly impressed by the maneuver. He replaced his comm on the dash before tapping his fingers thoughtfully on the flight controls. He took a deep breath, letting it out slowly as he made his way to Lothal.

* * *

Once Kallus settled himself into his new quarters in the Imperial Dome, he stumbled tiredly into the refresher, rubbing his palms over his eyes. He pulled off his uniform, folding it neatly on the counter. His hand lingered over the black material for a moment before he stepped into the shower, his presence instantly activating the automated showerhead. Hot water poured down his body, relieving some of the tension that had been building since he first stepped foot onto the star destroyer orbiting this miserable excuse for a planet.

As he lathered soap in his hands, rubbing it across his body an image of the mouthy bartender from Gorse flashed unbidden in his mind: the way his bright green eyes moved appreciatively over Kallus’ body, that tall, lithe, muscular form. He felt his cock twitch to attention at the thought, causing a panicked flutter in his stomach.

Okay, the agent told himself, he’s admittedly attractive. It doesn’t mean anything. He’s _no one,_ he told himself as his hand ghosted toward his semi-hard cock, feeling it harden beneath his hand as he remembered the sound of his name on the sound of his name from that low, rough voice: _Agent Alexsandr Kallus._

Kallus closed his eyes and began moving his soapy hand in firm, long strokes. He couldn’t remember the last time the mere thought of someone made him this painfully, delightfully hard. He braced himself with one arm on the tile wall, imagining that smart mouth of Kanan’s on his cock, staring up at him with mischievously defiant green eyes. His hand moved faster and he grunted, leaning his damp forehead onto his forearm.

Almost as clearly as if the uncouth man had spoken in his ear he heard, “ _What’re you wearing_?”

Kallus groaned, biting his lip to keep from crying out as he came in ribbons on the tile wall, his thighs trembling from the strain of keeping him upright. Panting, he redirected the showerhead to wash away the evidence of his undeniable attraction to Kanan Jarrus.

“Oh, frack me,” he croaked.


	3. In Your Dreams

Agent Kallus watched through a crack in the rocks as the _Ghost_ landed to retrieve Zeb from Geonosis’s icy moon. The Lasat was met with warm enthusiasm, hugs, and laughter. Kanan Jarrus—who Kallus now knew to be a _Jedi_ of all things—threw an arm around the man, saying something with a smile that Kallus could not hear.

For a moment, the Jedi looked past the Lasat, straight at the rocks behind which Kallus was currently shivering from cold and the pain of his broken leg.

Kallus could have sworn Kanan gave the smallest, subtlest of nods in his direction.

Twenty minutes later, an Imperial shuttle came to extract Agent Kallus. After all the resources the Empire expended to search for and retrieve him, he received a cold welcome back on Lothal. Admiral Konstantine barked at him to get to the medbay, not looking up from his datapad as he hurried past.

After a short stint in a bacta tank, the medic sent Kallus back to his private quarters for bed rest. Only days ago, he would have resisted the orders and insisted on returning to work immediately. As it was, he couldn’t find the energy to do anything but shower and go to sleep. He carefully placed the still-glowing meteorite on his bedside table before collapsing against the mattress with a groan. In spite of the myriad thoughts buzzing in his mind—or perhaps because of them—the ISB agent fell asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow. 

* * *

Agent Kallus found himself in a seedy dive bar. It bore all the marks of an Outer Rim shit-hole. The bar itself had the dull sheen of years of grime, none of the stools or tables sat level, and the glasses looked about as clean as the refresher down the hall smelled. A peeling sign above read: _The Asteroid Belt._

Kallus wrinkled his nose in distaste: he was on fracking _Gorse._

He groaned, reaching for the glass of Trandoshan ale that appeared before him, as these things sometimes did in dreams. He thought nothing of it as he reached for the perspiring glass, taking several deep sips of the bitter beer.

“Really oughta pace yourself with that stuff,” an Outer-Rim voice drawled beside him. Much like the drink, Kanan Jarrus had somehow materialized on the stool beside his.

“Oh, great,” Kallus said flatly, “the perfect end to a perfect day.”

“Trouble at the office?” Kanan asked with a smirk.

“The ‘office’ is _fine,_ ” Kallus snapped.

“If you’re fine with fascism, then sure,” the Jedi drawled as he moved Kallus’ drink to the other side of the bar with a wave of his hand. The blonde man dove for it but missed, landing gracelessly across the Jedi’s lap.

He narrowed his brown eyes at the grinning man above him and snapped, “You are a _giant_ pain in my ass, you know that, right?”

Kanan arched a suggestive eyebrow, “Not yet I’m not—but I sure would _like_ to be.” 

“You’re absolutely unbelievable,” Kallus muttered, as he braced himself on the bar to pull himself away from the Jedi he’d landed on. Kanan stopped him with two strong hands around his waist.

“What’s the rush?” he asked.

“The ‘rush?’” Kallus repeated, narrowing his eyes. “The _rush_ is that I have neither the energy nor the desire to deal with the sound of your voice, _Jedi._ ”

“Then maybe you should shut me up,” Kanan suggested, his hands tightening on the agent’s waist, sliding downward to squeeze the firm ass beneath black pants.

Kallus could feel the Jedi’s growing arousal against his hip and closed his eyes, breathing deeply through his nose to calm himself. The hands that were now stroking his thighs left his skin thrumming, sending a reluctant pulse of pleasure to his groin. He opened his eyes, brown irises flashing with gold, to regard the man before him. “Is that a challenge?” he asked throatily.

“If that’s what gets your Imp rocks off, then—“ Kanan’s words were cut off by Kallus’s mouth crushing against this own. He moaned into the kiss as he felt his lips parted by the agent’s tongue, running along his teeth before meeting his own. He tilted his head, gripping a hand in blonde hair to pull the man closer, sliding past that Imp tongue to begin plundering his mouth.

Using his considerable strength, Kanan grabbed one of Kallus’ legs and swung it around his waist before standing, bringing the agent with him and shoving him roughly against the bar, grinding his hips forward against the other man’s growing arousal.

Wanting to see more of him, to taste more of him, Kanan began tugging on the agent’s shirt, breaking their heated kiss just long enough to pull it over his head, sending that usually perfectly-kempt blonde hair into disarray. He ran his hands firmly up Kallus’ abdomen, his fingers lingering appreciatively over his abs. Moving his mouth downward, he trailed hot, open-mouthed kisses across the other man’s neck and chest, grazing his teeth over a hardening nipple. Kallus hissed as Kanan bit down lightly before lathing the sensitive skin with his tongue.

The agent reached down, pulling impatiently at the green fabric of Kanan’s shirt. With a smirk, Kanan tugged it off quickly, throwing it such that it landed perfectly on a hook on the other side of the bar. Kallus narrowed his eyes, “Show off.”

“You ain’t seen nothin’ yet, Agent Kallus,” Kanan said throatily before dropping to his knees, pressing his nose against the erection pushing against the tight black fabric, letting his mouth lightly trace the bulge before unfastening Kallus’s pants.

Kallus looked down, watching as Kanan pulled his pants from his legs, and he impatiently stepped out of them along with his boots. Apparently his subconscious dictated that he no longer needed them, because they disappeared.

The Jedi leaned forward, swiping his tongue along the length of Kallus’ muscular thighs, then nibbling on his hip. He grinned as he saw the agent’s thick erection twitch, achingly hard. The blonde man’s hips jerked forward impatiently and Kanan gripped them firmly in his hands, rubbing circles into his upper thighs with his thumbs. He looked up and said sarcastically, “I’m sorry, is something frustrating you?”

“Figures you’d be a _kriffing tease_ ,” Kallus bit out, his hands gripping the bar so hard his knuckles were turning white.

Kanan pulled his head back and said as-a-matter-of-factly, “Pretty sure you’re the tease in this scenario—chasing me around Lothal in that tight little black number.”

“You mean my _uniform_?” Kallus gritted, feeling his cock pulse almost painfully, aching for contact.

“What, you mean you weren’t just wearing that for _me?_ ” Kanan gasped, “I’m _hurt,_ ‘Lex _._ ”

“Would you just _shut up, already_?” the agent snapped.

Kanan smirked mischievously, running his hands up and down Kallus’s thighs, feeling them tense and shudder beneath his touch. “They don’t teach you the magic word at the Fascist Factory Academy?”

“Magic is _your_ purview, Jedi,” he bit back.

“Don’t need to be a Jedi to use good manners, Agent Kallus,” Kanan pointed out.

“ _Fine,_ ” Kallus exhaled sharply, “ _Please._ ”

“Please _what_? I just wanna make sure I’m doin’ this right,” the Jedi asked, barely able to keep a straight face.

“Please, put my dick in your mouth or shoot me—just do _something_!” Kallus groaned.

“That wasn’t so hard, now was it?” Kanan smirked. Then, nodding to the erection pulsing against Kallus’ stomach, he added, “Now _this_ on the other hand….”

“ _Kanan!”_ Kallus groaned, using the Jedi’s given name—well, self-given name—for the first time.

With a mocking salute. the Jedi leant forward, swiping his tongue from the base of Kallus’ red cock to the tip, gripping the shaft in one hand as he took the head into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the hypersensitive flesh. With his other hand, he held Kallus’ hips in place, digging his fingers into his thigh.

The nice thing about being a Jedi, Kanan thought to himself as he savored both the musky taste on his mouth and the sounds the man above him was making, was that it made a person exceptionally adroit at almost anything they set their mind to. He relaxed his throat, moving both of his hands to grip the blonde man’s hips and took the entire length down his throat.

“ _Kriffing hells!_ ” Kallus called out, watching his own cock disappear into the Jedi’s usually smart mouth with wide eyes. Green eyes locked onto his, staring intently as he began bobbing up and down, applying firm pressure to the underside of Kallus’ cock with his tongue.

Kanan released the cock with a popping sound, sticking his own middle finger into his mouth and coating it with saliva before taking the head back into his mouth, tonguing the sensitive spot beneath the glans. He cradled the agent’s balls with his hand, running his moistened middle finger along his perineum and tracing circles around his hole.

Kallus keened at that, his knees buckling slightly, only Kanan’s firm grip and his own hands on the bar keeping him upright. Questioning green eyes met his and Kallus nodded hurriedly, clenching his brown eyes shut as he felt the finger penetrate him. “ _Uunnnh,_ ” he moaned, as he felt the finger curl inside him, nudging his swollen prostate with gentle pressure.

Kanan tasted precum on his tongue, and swirled it around the head of Kallus’ cock as he continued fingering him. He moved the hand that had been gripping the other man’s hip to the base of his cock, squeezing firmly as he pulled away his mouth and removed his fingers from Kallus’ body. He sucked on his index finger as well, sliding two fingers back inside the man, curling them to press more firmly against the bundle of nerves inside him.

“For fuck’s sake, just fuck me with your dick already!” Kallus gritted out in frustration.

Kanan looked up at him—the agent’s normally neat blonde hair was plastered to his face with sweat and his cheeks were flushed bright red. The Jedi smiled, “Alright, hold your rontos. Just wanna make sure you can take it.”

“I can _take_ it,” Kallus snapped at the impossibly frustrating man on his knees before him, pulling him up forcefully by his shoulders before hurriedly unfastening the Jedi’s pants, feeling his sizable erection against his fingers as he freed it from the confines of the fabric.

Kanan chuckled as he stepped out of his boots and pants, kicking them carelessly to the side as he leaned forward, parting Kallus’ legs with his own and settling between them. “If you say so.” He said before spitting into his palm, coating the head of his own cock. With a quick movement, Kanan hoisted Kallus up into his arms and turned, laying him onto a table behind them. Bracing one hand on the wood beside Kallus’s waist, the other guiding his cock toward his entrance.

Kallus arched his back off the table when Kanan pushed a few inches inside him, pausing to give the agent time to adjust to his considerable thickness. Kallus’s breath was coming out in pants as Kanan ran a hand down his abdomen and up his thigh, lifting his leg higher before sliding in further with painful slowness until he was buried to the hilt.

Space, the Jedi was big, Kallus thought to himself as he sank his shoulders back, relaxing around the girth inside him: Of _course_ he fracking would be, the cocky bastard. Kallus rolled his hips forward impatiently, urging the Jedi to begin moving, “You’re not going to break me, Jedi, so _fuck me already._ ”

Kanan obliged, finding himself unable to find something sarcastic to say about the agent’s impatience as he relished the hot tightness enveloping his cock. He pulled back slowly about half way before easing back inside, watching Kallus’ face carefully for signs of discomfort. The man beneath him was biting his lip, his face and chest shining with sweat.

Kallus reached forward, gripping Kanan’s forearms in his hands and squeezing desperately. The Jedi bent down and licked the sweat from the agent’s chest, up to his neck before pulling out almost completely and thrusting back inside with more force than before. Kallus cried out, his grip tightening on Kanan’s arms as the thick cock hit his prostate. Having found his angle, Kanan began thrusting harder, picking up his speed.

The empty bar echoed with the slapping sound of skin on skin. Kanan wanted to watch that pink mouth moan in pleasure but he knew he wouldn’t last if he did. He clenched his eyes shut, groaning at the intense heat surrounding his cock. Using the Force, Kanan pulled Kallus further off the edge of the table to allow himself to penetrate more deeply. The agent moaned throatily in respone, pushing himself onto his elbows and pulling himself up, gripping Kanan’s biceps in a firm, bruising grip.

Kanan moved a hand from Kallus’ hip to grip his erection, squeezing his fist lightly around the head before pumping the shaft in firm strokes, not breaking his thrusts. He’d never been more grateful for his preternatural coordination than when he heard that usually smooth Coruscanti voice break as it moaned his name. Kanan sped up his thrusts, feeling the tell-tale tightening in his balls that let him know he was close.

Heat pooled in Kallus’ groin, the dual stimulation of his cock and prostate sending him rapidly over the edge. He leaned forward, searching out Kanan’s mouth, tasting himself on the Jedi’s tongue and moaning deeply. Kanan kissed him back, before breaking away, replacing his mouth on Kallus’ neck, sucking on the junction of his throat and shoulder as he sped up his hand, sensing the other man’s climax approaching. He bit down _hard_ on the agent’s neck, marking him as he pummeled the man into the table, the wood groaning in protest just as the agent groaned in abject pleasure.

Kanan could feel Kallus’ muscles clench around his cock as the agent came with a shout, his back arching as he coated both Kanan’s hand and his own chest with ribbons of come. Kallus’ orgasm sent Kanan over the edge and he came hard inside the man beneath him, his hips stuttering as he filled him with his seed. Kanan continued to thrust weakly for a few moments before he fell fully on top of Kallus, his breath coming in rough pants.

Kallus reached up to release Kanan’s hair from his tie and gripping the loose, brown locks, pulling the Jedi’s mouth to his, biting down on his bottom lip before lathing it with his tongue. Kanan moaned into the kiss, and— _BEEP._

_BEEP._

_BEEP._

Kallus grabbed the alarm clock and threw it hard against the wall where it shattered, booping reproachfully before silencing. He didn’t need to reach down to know he’d soiled his pajama bottoms. With a frustrated sigh he moved out of bed, his back feeling oddly stiff even though it was his leg that had been injured. His eyes clenched reflexively when he turned on the bright refresher light. He ran cold water from the sink over his hands before splashing his face.

As he patted his face dry, he looked in the mirror. There was an unmistakable bite mark marring his skin where Dream-Kanan had bitten him as he came. Kallus narrowed his brown eyes, “What the…”

Meanwhile, two systems away, Kanan’s green eyes snapped open. He was in his own bed on the _Ghost,_ the smell of his own ejaculate unmistakable in the compact room. With a groan, he reached for his shirt, wincing as he pulled it over his head. He rubbed at his biceps, the muscles tender to the touch. Flicking on a light, he looked down to see distinct fingermarks bruising his arms, just where Kallus had gripped him as he fucked him into a bar table.

Kanan stared at the bruises for several long minutes before saying simply, “ _Oh_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end!  
> Or IS it??  
> Maybe. There is more to the story, and I may replace what I cut out if I can make it read better.


End file.
